


Sweater Weather

by lynxzpanther



Category: All For the Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 03:05:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6312859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynxzpanther/pseuds/lynxzpanther
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What’s this?”</p><p>“A sweater. Un pull.”</p><p>“You don’t speak French,” Jean accuses.</p><p>“I looked it up,” she shoots back, “because I knew you’d be impossible.” She tosses her hair lightly, as if annoyed that he’d expect her to be anything other than prepared to outmaneuver him. When he considers this, he’s not actually at all surprised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweater Weather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ghostqueen (sourpastels)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sourpastels/gifts).



It’s late November shortly before Thanksgiving when Alvarez shows up at the door to the suite with a reusable grocery bag full of fabric. “Where’s Jer?”

“Picking up take out,” Jean tells her. She keeps watching him expectantly, so he steps back from the doorway and allows her to push inside. Napoleon stands from his spot in the corner, coming over to stare down the new person. He allows her to pet him for a moment, and then comes to stand next to Jean, pressed against his side. Napoleon is friendlier than his owner but almost as wary, keeping one step ahead of Jean as if to protect him. Jean reaches down to scratch behind the dog’s ears as a thank you.

Alvarez plops down on the couch and waves Jean over. She rolls her eyes when he settles at the other edge of the couch, as far from her as possible, and he takes pleasure from her annoyance. The enjoyment is killed quickly as she shoves the bag at him. “Here.”

“It’s too early for Christmas,” he dismisses, refusing to take it. 

She upturns it instead, dumping a jumbled pile of sweaters onto his lap. “Why do you have to be so difficult,” she grumbles, tossing the bag aside and crossing her arms.   
Napoleon sniffs at the clothes, nosing through them before losing interest to settle instead at Alvarez’s feet. Jeremy sorts through the pile, all sweaters that are varying degrees of worn out and soft to the touch. “Parce que j’aime être,” he murmurs quietly. Then, “why?”

She shrugs, nonchalance betrayed by the way her narrowed eyes are still watching Jean’s reaction intently. “My brother is a giant like you, and he lets me steal his old stuff. We go black Friday shopping every year, so it’s time for me to raid his room for stuff again anyway, and you’re going to Jer’s for Thanksgiving, right? It’s cold up there.” 

Jean smooths out the maroon sweater at the top of the pile and holds up a sleeve. “What’s this?”

“A sweater. Un pull.”

“You don’t speak French,” Jean accuses. 

“I looked it up,” she shoots back, “because I knew you’d be impossible.” She tosses her hair lightly, as if annoyed that he’d expect her to be anything other than prepared to outmaneuver him. When he considers this, he’s not actually at all surprised. 

Still, he rolls his eyes and pokes his fingers through a hole in the sleeve. It’s hemmed, so it’s intentional. “This,” he clarifies. 

“Oh! Thumb holes. I figured you’d like that one because you’re always hiding your hands in your pockets.”

He gives her a short nod. “Okay.” He refuses to thank her on principle, because the gift is forced and unnecessary, if thoughtful. 

She doesn’t seem to want or expect gratitude anyway. Instead, she settles in on the couch and turns on the TV. “If you don’t wear at least one in the next week,” she threatens absently, not even looking at him, “I’ll let Laila replace all of your black clothes with colorful shit.” He rolls his eyes but considers that, realizes she would do it, and tugs the maroon sweater on over his head. She doesn’t make the concession worse by commenting. 

Napoleon, at least, seems to approve; when Jean finishes carefully folding the rest of the pile, setting it aside on the floor, Napoleon hops up and settles in his lap, head and nose pressed into Jean’s stomach. By the time Jeremy comes back with the food, they’re twenty minutes into The Princess Bride, because Alvarez found it in the TV guide and started shouting when Jean said he hadn’t seen it. Alvarez refuses to leave, so Jeremy texts Laila and it becomes an impromptu party. They stay until the movie ends (Jean told Alvarez it was “okay”; Laila had to drag her still angrily flailing and trying to fight him out the door). 

“That’s a nice sweater,” Jeremy tells Jean carefully as they’re cleaning up popcorn, take out containers, empty soda cans, and beer bottles. Jeremy never wants to pressure Jean with expectations, and it’s a dead giveaway of what Jeremy finds important, an expectation all the same. 

“Alvarez dumped it on me.” He puts the small amount of leftover beef in Napoleon’s bowl and pets the dog’s head lightly as he scrambles over to eat it before Jean can change his mind. “Literally. Dumped them in my lap and made me agree to keep them or else.” 

Jeremy frowns briefly. “I can tell her to back off? She can be pushy—“

Jean takes a risk and emerges from his comfort zone to lightly bumping his shoulder against Jeremy’s as he steps around him to reach for paper towels. “It’s fine.” He’s not afraid of Alvarez’s threats: they’re paradoxically friendly. It’s not that he doubts her ability to follow through; he’s just so accustomed to threats of pain and torture that colorful clothes don’t rate. She may be forcing something on him, but it’s an affectionate effort, and that makes all the difference. 

“Still,” Jeremy starts, making an issue where one doesn’t need to exist. 

“Do you want me to wear color?” Jean cuts him off to ask instead. 

Poor Napoleon abandons his treat to go wuff at Jeremy’s feet, concerned as always when his human playmate is upset. He looks at Jean and whines, so Jean goes to loop his fingers through Napoleon’s collar. He’s close enough to feel the heat of Jeremy next to him, close as they can be without touching. That’s how he feels Jeremy shaking. 

“I won’t do it just because you tell me to,” Jean decides to tell him. “This answer is safe. I just want your input.” He doesn’t say Jeremy’s opinion matters to him and he wonders if Jeremy hears it anyway. Probably not—and Alvarez accuses Jean of being difficult. 

“I think color would make you look less like a Raven,” Jeremy admits quietly. Jean allows the painc of disobeying to wash over him, tightens his fist around Napoleon’s collar until the buckle is cutting into his fingers a bit, and leans on Jeremy for a moment when he’s too dizzy to keep himself upright. And then, he lets the panic ebb. 

“I haven’t worn color in years. I may as well try it.” 

“Not just for us?” Jeremy checks. 

“No. Mostly for me.” Jean’s startled by the fact that it’s actually true; he’s done being a Raven, and progress won’t come without risk. Starting here is as good as anywhere else.

So carefully that it could be slow motion, Jeremy reaches out and squeezes Jean’s shoulder. Jean releases his dog and goes to put away the pile of hand-me-downs in his closet. The colors are all neutral: navy, cream, dark green, deep red, clearly meant to ease him into this. They still stand out starkly amongst the rest of his dark clothes. 

He studies himself in the mirror, maroon complementing back jeans, skin that’s still too pale for California, and hair dark as night. It’s a small change and not too revolutionary, a shade similar to the Raven’s ladies garnet necklaces for the Christmas banquet, the men’s matching ties. But the sweater is patching in multiple places and sports multiple loose threads and frayed hems. The Jean in the mirror looks softer. Weaker. But still… he thinks, maybe. This could work.

**Author's Note:**

> Some fluff for Shannon, because she is the best at texting me at like 3am with headcanons. For that, she gets faded sweaters with thumb holes and cuddles from Napoleon the service dog. <3
> 
> Find me over on tumblr at rileybluuseys, or all of us at exyspacegays for more JereJean headcanons and general flailing.


End file.
